


Sacrament

by heartstone



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Biting, Blood, Hunters & Hunting, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Predator/Prey, Sexual Content, Vampire Melkor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-19 12:53:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22678084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartstone/pseuds/heartstone
Summary: Just as Mairon was having the dangerous thought that perhaps he had truly escaped, from the very depths of the humming silence there was an irregularity that was certainly not his heartbeat nor his traitorous inhalation-exhalation.***Melkor and Mairon play a game.
Relationships: Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor/Sauron | Mairon
Comments: 12
Kudos: 59





	Sacrament

_Th-thump, th-thump, th-thump, th-thump._

The heartbeat that pulsed so wildly came from the most uninteresting of rooms. It beat as if it wished to tear itself from the body it was embedded in, swelling full and contracting with a painful quiver of muscle as quick as it was able, blood gushing through the most delicate of vessels, testing their resilience to bursting. With each desperate pump the starving organ begged for air and the trembling body that the terrified heart’s veiny roots spread heaved with the force of breath barely contained behind curved bone. Its rhythm was unstoppable and the heart beat onwards with shaking lungs. But it would betray him.

Mairon crouched under the long mahogany meeting room table right under the foot of the ornately carved throne at its head. He clutched onto the leg of the table with one hand and clamped his hand over his mouth with the other, willing his breathing to quiet. He shook violently with the effort, knowing he was doomed. He could not control the instincts of his Fána, not without a murmur of his Power which would be as a brilliant beacon to his unforgiving pursuer. He would have to risk being heard over being seen, and pray that his undesirable location- the only place Mairon could think _He_ would be adverse to searching- would keep him safe long enough to quiet down.

Sweat beaded his temples and the sheen shimmered on his skin like the iridescence of an oil-spill. He had dampened his Fëa before fleeing, but now it was difficult to restrain himself. The smell of his own terror was laced potently in his sweat along with the sweet-smelling hormones which kept his heart racing and his mind spinning. Feverish, the Maia struggled to rein in the moans that threatened to tear from his lips as he became frighteningly conscious of his plight. A series of shivers sparked the thin, delicate nerves along his spine, immediately hardening his nipples and settling heavy in between his thighs. The overworked muscles of his legs twitched, sore from running through the halls of Utumno and for crouching this long like a scared little fawn under the table. He daren’t move. His knuckles were white as his grip tightened on the wood, making it creak in protest.

_Th-thump, th-thump, th-thump, th-thump._

For many moments, that was all Mairon heard: his own rapidly fluttering heartbeat and sharp breath. The luster of his sweat cooled on his skin and his fingers became frozen and stiff with their sustained tenseness. The meeting room was deadly silent, silent enough to be nauseously oppressive, silent enough that one could feign to hear the hum behind the veil of the mundane world. The Maia struggled to swallow down the thick _fear_ that had embedded in his throat and he inwardly cringed at how loud his gulp seemed to be as the peristalsis drowned the feeling deeper into his chest. He squeezed shut his eyes and focused on the sensation of his tingling face, flushed with his physical exertion and the intoxication of his excitement. For many long moments he did not move, the crawling anticipation just as deliciously traumatic as the wild chase had been.

Just as Mairon was having the dangerous thought that perhaps he had truly escaped, from the very depths of the humming silence there was an irregularity that was certainly _not_ his heartbeat nor his traitorous inhalation-exhalation:

_click — click — click — click_

A squeak attempted to escape Mairon’s throat to betray his location. That _doom_ was almost certainly coming from the adjoining hall. Terrified, his heart began to thrum madly against his aching ribs and a wave of sickly heat went awash through his straining body, as taut as a bowstring. His eyes were now wide open, staring desperately at the door that he had so foolishly, so incomprehensibly foolishly left ajar. Mairon’s Fána spasmed in the most delightful of horrors and he had to dig crescents from his nails into the table’s wood to keep from screaming as the realization that: there were no other exits, he had trapped himself! And still from the hallway, growing ever closer and closer:

_click — Click — CLICK — CLICK_

Panic drenched him within and without. He didn’t dare move, paralyzed with the dread that he would certainly be found but utterly unable to do anything but wait, wait so _painfully_ for his approaching fate. He made every effort to keep himself steady, desperately strangling the golden flames of his own Fëa to die down for only a moment- just a moment- so that the pitiless hunter would pass the room by. He knew it was hopeless. It wasn’t a traditional sight that his hunter was using, but something much more useful in the pitch-black of Utumno’s deepest depths. _He_ would notice every irregularity in the rooms: He would surely _smell_ him, a quivering terrified Maia tucked under the end of a table, twisting with the awful savagery of his persuit. Mairon waited, watching the door.

The Presence approached, mists of an impossibly cold darkness writhing in the air like the throes of a dying serpent, surrounding the hulking form that Mairon couldn’t see but could _feel._ An obdurate will pressed up against his consciousness, probing its sharp nails into the ash of his tormented mind, too overbearing a will to resist. Tears sprung boiling from the corners of the Maia’s eyes and vaporized on his burning crimson cheeks. He was _there,_ He was so close, just outside the door! A shadow fell across the room, as if the Void itself tipped and spilled through the doorway and made the deep black shadows of Utumno seem only a pale grey. Silent and swift it seeped into everything, saturating every one of his thoughts as a pressure upon his consciousness.

_CLICK — CLICK —_ **_CLICK — CLICK._ **

Mairon couldn’t even manage a pealing scream as he bolted suddenly from underneath the table in one final pathetic attempt at escape as the shadows swirled around him. He choked on his thin voice as he felt the malefic Presence breathe cold death on his nape, poised magnificently far above him on the table and pouncing silently but efficiently like the lovely arch of an arrow as it soared to sink to the fletching into its quivering prey. Nothing would protect the Maia now and he could only brace himself with a painful tensing of every one of his muscles and the sorry defense of his raised arms as he was slammed into the floor by something terribly large and with too many limbs. The wind knocked out of him, Mairon lolled as a dove caught mid-air by a bird-of-prey, eyes fixed entirely on the Leviathan shape snarling at the prize it had stalked and restrained. An abhorrent gravelly union of laughter and a thunder-growl serrated Mairon’s senses as he watched in completely horrified reverence which form his Master had decided on this chase.

Melkor had become now absurdly massive compared to the Maia’s own slight form, knowing well that it pleased the Maia to be overwhelmed so exquisitely: the show of such _Power_ that prevented him from fighting back. How the Vala had stalked and chased him so swiftly and silently Mairon could not guess, and the mystery of His mighty hunt made Mairon shudder. Pinned down by His weight, he endured the ridicule of his Master with a sudden deluge of _need_ as Melkor’s dark laugher turned into a sort of slavering at him like he was some amuse-bouche. Unable to contain His hunger, Melkor spread out the immensity of His shadow-shrouded wings along the width of the room, flexing the skeletal fingers to stretch the thick membrane taut. Mairon’s eyes followed the dagger-sharp barb that curled at the joining of all the wing’s fingers. The long curled tragus of His vespertilionid ears twitched incessantly, flicking this way and that at the seemingly insignificant soft sound of the sweat and tears running along the curve of the Maia’s face, His ear-tips trembling at Marion’s breathing that broke the seal of his red lips, the rushing blood that coursed through his veins: 

_Th-thump, th-thump, th-thump, th-thump._

Melkor’s movements were supernaturally quick and lithe. His overwhelming touch was a brand of absolute ice and it seared the Maia’s hot skin, hissing a streaming torrent of steam. His wings folded down upon him like a flourishing tsunami, pinning his struggling arms to the floor above him and bruising a mottled purple his wrists- the curled barb at the end of the wings threatened to slice him if he struggled and wasted His time as He claimed His prize. Insolent, Mairon continued to struggle poorly, his body knowing it was futile against Melkor’s brutal strength. He was preoccupied, anyhow, with the irrational churning of his racing thoughts at his Master’s monstrous form above him, nose wrinkled as He snarled, flashing white fangs. Crawling on the ground, Melkor’s wing-barb kept him stretched up as His hands pinned his thrashing hips and held him still, the Vala’s breathing heavy and ravenous, utterly pleased with His Maia’s blissful distress.

Mairon was given no other warning aside from the flashing of His fangs once more. Melkor swooped downwards swiftly with the Maia tight in His hold as He buried His face into the gentle sloping neck _(seemingly proffered),_ puncturing the burning, sweat-sticky flesh that throbbed with each _th-thump, th-thump_ of the frenzied organ _._ The heart that had so hopelessly worked to keep the Maia alive was now delivering as much blood as it was able to his predator’s greedily laving mouth. Mairon found that he could suddenly make noise again, his moans strangled and hoarse as he relished the sharp lance of Melkor’s fangs parting the layers of his skin and the subsequent pull of his own ichor into a hot mouth by the insistence of suckling lips. He arched upwards in a heady mix of false but coy resistance, an unspeakable arousal which destroyed him from the inside out and which poured into his Master’s throat, and a shuddering surrender. All of this at once made him swoon. He mewled, dizzy with the voracious gulps taken from his bent neck.

Melkor was not yet finished with His sinful indulgence. His claws tore at the Maia’s fine clothes, wrenching them to fine scraps and shreds with disgust that He should be hindered as He drank. The musky smell that perfumed the air about them was much more than tangy sweat and salt-brine tears and the metallic tincture of blood, and Melkor inhaled just as insatiably as it was that He drank Mairon’s inebriating blood. The Vala finished impatiently slicing through the smaller Maia’s trousers, nicking the skin underneath with the very tip of His claws and letting Himself soar with the taste and smell of blood and terror and arousal. Mairon mewled and whimpered incomprehensibly, eyes glossy as Melkor pressed Himself roughly against him, pushing his limp limbs this way and that as it pleased Him, finding a position He favored. Mairon’s cock dribbled profusely with the joy of his capture and how he was now nothing more than a pretty little doll- _prey to be ravaged._

The Vala pulled back suddenly from Mairon’s abused neck, licking at the punctures for the beads of blood that spilled, glowing golden on his brown skin. The Maia felt Him quake and growl, rich and low and inhumanly deep from His throat as He finished cleaning off the liquid fire from the gaping wounds before they coagulated and became difficult to sip. Mairon released like a staccato-tune his tumbling moans as Melkor impatiently rut against the inside of his thigh, unable to be oblivious to the feeling of just how fully _engorged_ He was and very, very thankful that his Master had prepared him most considerately before their game began. Melkor growled once more, rising His face from its spot against the dip of his manubrium, lifting up his narrow hips, His claws digging into the generous flesh of the Maia’s ass as He did so before He thrust Himself fully within the tightly clasping heat that awaited Him between parted thighs.

It hurt, and Mairon wailed at the stretch despite the slick gush of oil around Melkor’s plunging cock. His body, shocked at the intrusion, was barely able to spasm around Him before He was already pulling out to pound back in- it was the most glorious torment to pulse with the alternating ripples of complete fullness and emptiness. Mairon met Him best he could under His smothering, looming weight and the shameful sounds he was making he was sure could be heard all the way to Valinor. Melkor bent over him and continued to growl feral into his neck, teeth threatening to puncture his throat again: Mairon nearly came at the thought of his Master simultaneously filling him while emptying his veins. He couldn’t contain his squirming and the black spots that danced in his vision from the lack of blood and air and the feeling of his achingly sensitive erection bouncing in the air, completely ignored. But the Maia knew that if he spilled first Melkor would only set him loose to flee again- and his next capture would not be so gentle.

His own nails dug into his palms, heaving in the air as he tried to control himself; the sensitivity of his flesh was dizzyingly electrifying and he couldn’t stop his moans as Melkor’s hair tickled his peaked nipples. The one thing that kept him grounded was that _Melkor would finish soon._ Mairon knew well enough the song of his Master’s groaning and growling, and the slap of their flesh as Melkor fucked him into the ground. His fangs danced along his skin, His breath hot with His mad fervor and His groaning now more of a drawn-out snarl, saliva dripping along his neck as the very points of His teeth stretched against his skin. Mairon would have said Eru’s name in vain if he could have spoke, tears plentiful rivulets along his neck as he purposefully clenched himself around Melkor, serving Him best he could—

Melkor’s cry sent tremors through Mairon’s very Fëa, fracturing through him as if the Vala’s orgasm were an earthquake. He bit into the Maia’s shoulder as His voice was lost, His massive body held pushed against the Maia so that he was scrunched up, the Vala’s hips flush against his ass so that He was buried as far as He could go, His thickly muscled thighs tense through the drawn-pulsing of His climax. Mairon screamed, writhing so much that his flesh rent further where Melkor pinned him unforgivingly to the ground. The pain of his Master’s teeth sunk into his shoulder melted into the overwhelming euphoria of his own spasming, lecherous pleasure and the deep heat of Melkor’s spilling seed.

Exhausted, Mairon collapsed deliriously as Melkor released the hold on his arms and kneeled back with his ass still in His lap and His cock still buried within him. The adrenaline that had sustained Mairon for so long was fading quickly, and he was left cold and numb and hot and sensitive all at the same time. He watched blearily as Melkor licked the golden blood from His swollen lips and laughed as Mairon shuddered around Him as He swiped His thumb ruthlessly over a peaked and red nipple, His nose twitching at the mess the Maia made on his own chest. Mairon whimpered, crying softly as Melkor removed himself, feeling immediately hollow: too exposed and stretched.

_Th-thump, th-thump, th-thump, th-thump._

Melkor would not be done with him yet, Mairon knew as he felt himself being picked up and carried off to some nest or den that they had in the most secret nooks of Utumno. Even semi-conscious, Mairon could not help but feel a final thrill of pleasure before the blackness of Melkor’s wings folded around him.

**Author's Note:**

> That clicking noise is supposed to be Melkor using echolocation.  
> Would love to know what you think!  
> ***


End file.
